Courage of the Silent
by GreenXwithXrasberry
Summary: Asra and Ikram are twins born in Syria, Damascus. Their father is an assassin, who will be leaving in a few days to take his son with him to Masyaf. The daughter Asra, is taken from her home a few days before. It starts in Syria. Story will now be Asra's POV when she arrives at the Middle Kingdom where the Song and Jin dynasty fight for reign and the influence of the Mongols grow.
1. Chapter 1 - Asra and Ikram

I have always liked to write random things that spring from my mind, but I've never actually had the courage to organize it. So here's a first attempt at trying to chain down some thoughts. Assassin's Creed Black Flag was released a few days ago and it refreshed my excitement on the series. I LOVED the first game that came out for Assassin's Creed. I love the region it is placed in. If you find anything out of place in my story, please tell me - I want to try to avoid 'WTF?' moments if I can call it that. I've been thinking about Asra and Ikram for a few days now so I decided to flesh them out. They are still fairly new to me which is probably why I have them as children. Comments and Critiques are appreciated!I don't own Assassin's Creed, just some OC. Actually I don't think any Canon characters will even appear for a while. This is set around 1167, Asra and Ikram are born at this time.

**EDIT 11/19:** I will be updating the summary soon. I've decided to make this just on Asra's point of view, because I will be taking her to another setting that is different from the middle east. She will come back, but I guess this could be like a back story for Asra, so I will not be deleting the POV from Ikram. I don't want to split between two different worlds, I'll have them separate - two back stories.

I know it is kind of weird to have someone not from China ENTER China, but one of the biggest issues I had about having a girl character born in China at this time period is the fact that this is the time when Lotus feet start to become the norm in Chinese society. It is also known as feet binding, where a girl's toes are all broken so they can fit the foot in a 4 inch shoe. I'm still trying to get some thoughts organized, and so I might not write more until I get this figured out. Also, from what Fox pointed out, I have found some more errors I need to fix in my paragraphs. So I have to get that stuff down before continuing.

* * *

"Mama, Ikram is being mean to me again!"

I ran towards my mother, my dress picking up the dust on the dirt road as I trailed into the house. Mother smiled as she let me grab hold of her apron. It smelled of oil, fresh bread and a faint scent of the flowers. Mother kneeled down, placing her hands on my small shoulders to comfort me as my brother ran through the door, his black hair in disarray from chasing me home. Pieces of dirt clung to his hair and dust had attached to his skin.

"Tell her to stop following me, Mama! She can't even keep up with me and then she complains!" Ikram huffed.

"I would be able to if you stopped trying to lose me!" I yelled back, my face still muffled in my mother's clothing. I could smell the sweat and spice from a day's work blending together on her sleeves.

"Hush children – Asra, Ikram, please." Our mother said calmly, "I need to fix dinner; your father is coming home tonight."

"Asra, come help me with the table – Ikram, please change your shirt," and with those words, mother stood up, beckoning the boy towards his room. "You look as if you've played in the dirt."

I stuck my tongue out at my twin as he scowled and went to grab a clean shalwar. I followed mother into the kitchen. Barely able to see above the counter, I managed to grab the wooden bowls nearest to me, careful not to knock them over.

"Child, did you push your brother?" My mother Samina asked, her eyes on me.

"He pushed me first," I said quietly, quickly placing each bowl on the table – the wooden objects making a light noise as they tapped the table. I had gotten angry with Ikram and shoved him back as I ran home. But the chiding tone from mother made me regret my decision and I did not want to use such a reason for an excuse. I sat on a chair, my head down.

"Well stop following me around Asra." Ikram walked in, his new shirt clean of debris. He hops onto the chair next to me, giving me an irritated look. It was like looking into a mirror, except I was not covered in dirt. The same brown eyes and feathery black hair - though my hair was covered.

"You use to let me follow you," I muttered under my breath, my eyes lifted just enough to see my brother roll his eyes. It hurt more than it annoyed me when Ikram got mad. I have just been so used to following him around but mother or someone else had watched us. Now he goes off on his own with his other friends and I sometimes couldn't help but follow. I never liked being by myself.

"Fine, next time I won't try to lose you…but don't be so slow!" Ikram concluded.

"Really? I won't be slow next time, I promise!" I looked up to Ikram, who was already chewing on a loaf of bread.

"Ikram! Wait for your father" mother said as I laughed at Ikram's growling stomach. Then they heard the door open and a tall figure walked into the home. His strong frame contrasted against the darkness of the night sky, a few gray hairs shone against the black of his beard.

"My children sitting nicely at the dinner table instead of creating chaos, what world have I stumbled upon?" the man laughed lightly as his wife walked up to embrace him.

"Hello Papa!" I leaped from my chair and followed mother.

"MMhpM!" my twin also ran towards the man, arms wide, still chewing on his food.

Taking a seat once more at the table, Ikram was the first to ask of their father's trip.

"What did you do at Duma, Papa?" Ikram asked between mouthfuls of food "It's too tiny of a town for trade."

"I was visiting an old friend of mine, he had requested some items the next time I head for the trading ports."

Asra pushed her food from side to side on her plate, quietly listening to the conversation. Her silence ended when her food vanished from her plate.

"Ikram!" irritated, I grasped for my brother's hand, his finger holding the Mehshi that was originally on my plate. But, every time I tried to reach for it, he would pull his hand further back. I wanted to leap from my chair and yank the eggplant out of my brother's hand, but instead I ran for my room.

I saw on my bed, my face flustered and red from embarrassment as well as frustration. Over my sniffling, I could hear the sound of my father's boots headed towards my room. He down next to me and put an arm over my shoulder.

"Why is he so mean to me papa?" my two arms supported my head as I leaned forward.

"Ikram did not mean it; he just doesn't think his actions through."

"Well he should. I'm not a boy, he knows I can't run well in this dress." I claimed. My father only smiled.

"Asra, why do you not join your friend Zahri when your brother goes to play with his friends? Do you not like her?"

I remained silent. My eyes follow the movements outside my door – Ikram was helping mother with the dishes. Zahri was the child of mother's friend who lived next door. She was very nice to me and I liked her the first day we met. She gave me a present after that day, one of the many dolls she had owned. She said she had too many and she wanted to share. I still keep it with me.

"She is visiting another family with her parents." I pulled the doll from out of my dress pocket, its golden strands of hair swayed awkwardly. I wasn't sure why she had to go; usually it was just Zahri's father who went. Papa raised an eyebrow, but did not comment.

"Ikram, come here." papa called. Only then did I realize Ikram had been standing by the door. Father stood as Ikram walked next to face, facing me.

"I will be leaving for Masyaf in a few days." Father placed his hand on Ikram's shoulder. Your brother, Asra, will be journeying with me. So before that, I'd like to take both of you to the market first. I trust there won't be any trouble?" Ikram and I nodded.

"Can I go now father?" Ikram's eyes darted side to side, as if he was in a hurry to escape something.

"No. Apologize to your sister."

"I'm sorry Asra. For taking your food," Ikram quickly added the end, his eyes watching Father.

"I'm sorry too, for pushing you so hard." I looked at Ikram with a slight smile on my face "I didn't know you would trip over your own feet."

I heard my brother scoff, but there was a smirk on his face. He ran out of the room as soon as Father let him go.

"I hope you two were listening." Father sighed.


	2. Chapter 2 - Dagger

The sun was positioned high in the sky – at its zenith and its soft glow breathed warmth into the land below it. The vast amounts of sand within the city intensified the light, each grain reflected. The market was painted in a variety of colors ranging from the clothing the people wore to the colors of gems on the jeweler's trading stall. Lively were the people, whom conversed and bartered in the largest city in the region. Of course for the sand, the heat of the sun was no issue. But the people that lived under the Light's gaze took precautions against such temperatures.

I adjusted my shawl; the dark blue silk was keeping me cool against the heat of the sun. Beads of sweat did still fall upon my brows. It was not the most convenient time to be outside but father had been preparing all day. There would not be another chance of seeing father before he left. He was to take Ikram this time as well, and though my brother and I argue sometimes. He was still my brother. I walked close to my twin, who was pulling on his white shalwar, trying to create wind. Father was ahead of us, but near enough to watch us both. Keeping our promise, we try not to cause any problems. Neither of us wanted to be scolded.

"Please. Wind. Where are you?" Ikram exhaled, as he shook the front of his Shalwar more with his hand. His complexion was much more tan than mine. His complaints about the heat vanished as he noticed a stall complete with swords and daggers from a nearby blacksmith. Walking straight up to the stall, father and I followed.

"Look at these blades!" Ikram's eyes were wide with interest. I disagreed with the smirk on his face. "Sharp enough to cut air."

"They're used to kill people." I commented. Ikram gave me a look as if I had stated the obvious. I've never seen actual weapons before. In fact, I've never seen a drawing of one, unless Ikram's sand interpretations counted. My twin had read books which included diagrams of weaponry. I was not allowed to read such books.

"Ah, but they can also be used for self-defense Asra." Father examined the blades carefully. He seemed to just be standing there, but I could tell papa was paying well attention by his gaze. A man behind the table headed towards us, his stout figure adorned in beige and wine colored coloring with a matching Taquiyah on his head. A smile appeared on his tanned face, adding more creases to his eyes.

"Zaahir! It has been a while!" the stall owner greeted my father. His voice seemed to match his appearance, booming. "I have not seen you since your trip to Duma."

"It has been Ghalib. I will be heading to Masayaf soon with my son, to show him the ports." papa took Ghalib's extended right hand in formal greeting.

"Papa, may I have a blade?" Ikram piped up, his eyes watching father then back to gaze at how the blades reflected the sun.

"If you're heading to Masayaf, you will not need to buy anything here." Ghalib's chuckle lightly. "They have finer blades there." The merchant turned his head towards me. Panic emerged in my chest and I averted my gaze at everything around me but the big man.

"Is this your daughter Zaahir?" I immediately walked behind my father, looking down at the sand at my feet. Father nodded.

"Father!" Ikram called out again, his attention to the fact that papa was talking to someone seemed to evade him. "May I please?" he impatiently pleaded, pointing at one of the daggers.

Ghalib laughed. He leaned a little closer to Ikram "You may have any dagger you like, to return a favor your father had helped me with."

"It was a favor for both of us. Bandits are neither welcome or good for profits." Father replied. I glanced towards Ikram, who was looking at each of the weapons with excitement. Curious as to see what was so interesting, I looked at the table as well. All I saw were knives, some with decorated hilts full of gems or gilded design in wood, silver, and gold. Some had shaped handles, some had curved blades. My eyes were caught towards a plain dagger, its blade was thin. The hilt was gilded with eagles. Ikram saw it too, and placed his hands on the hilt of the blade. I hid my pout, either my brother had saw me glance at the weapon or as twins he could read my mind. Although I had no need for a knife, that one had seemed attractive.

"May I?" Ikram asked father, his smile pulled ear to ear. Ikram held the blade in his hand, tilting it from side to side.

"Thank you, Ghalib." the merchant simply nodded and went to attend with his other customers. Father turned to me "Now that Ikram has gotten something, lets go look at other stalls shall we, Asra?"

"May I. get one too?" my finger pointed halfheartedly towards the table. I was not sure why I even asked. I've never seen a real dagger until today, I'm not even sure how I would hold one.

"No stop copying me Asra! Girls don't need weapons anyways" Ikram spoke immediately, putting the weapon away.

"You're the one copying me, I saw that dagger first!" I spoke back, my hands crossed in front of me. Ikram looked at father confused and dramatically shrugged his shoulders, as I had never said anything out loud. I was a bit angry now. We walked away from the stalls and Father kneeled down to my height.

"My daughter, you do not need something like that."

"But you told me that daggers can be used for protecting yourself." I reasoned, my eyes blinking fast, saddened by father's opinion following my brother's. "I can use one to protect myself."

"Don't worry Asra; we'll do the protecting for you!" Ikram swung the cloaked dagger around as if he was fighting an unknown enemy. I couldn't help but smile, the tears that were forming had evaporated. My twin was so annoying at times, but I wonder if I was just being sensitive.

* * *

"You made us waste the entire day, Asra. Why didn't you just pick something?" Ikram huffed, as we headed home.

The sun has done its daily rounds, now resting on the horizon as evening was preparing for the night. I'm pretty sure Ikram was a shade darker from being out all day, but it could just be his face puffing red from frustration. There was nothing I wanted from the other traders. I did not want any bracelets and I had found out today that neither papa or my twin brother knew what it meant to 'buy something that matches'. Father was being patient though, and I believe he knew that he could not match mother's ability to pick the right things for me. He was letting me calm down and I was glad for that. I did like the looking at the items being sold, but I felt too guilty to actually want anything. Ikram had gotten angry the first time I rejected one of his opinions, then my emotions soured and I didn't want father to buy me anything purely out of spite.

"I didn't want anything, okay?" I said defensively, pulling my arms around myself.

"Your loss." We finally made it back home, my brother ran through the door when mother opened it to greet us. Father pulled me aside.

"We will be there in a moment Samina," mother nodded at her husband's words and headed inside.

"Am I in trouble father?" I whispered, afraid that being too stubborn at the market might have earned me a scolding.

"No" Father started "You didn't want anything at the market today Asra?" I shook my head.

"I didn't really want anything. I just wanted to spend time with you and Ikram before you were to leave. He didn't have to get mad! He picks bad colors."

"Well, I have a gift for you instead then." Father laughed as he pulled a bag out from his pocket, and I saw a necklace taken from the bag. The chains were thin, made of silver. There was an icon in the placed in the center that I did not recognize. Handing it to me, I ran my hands over it.

"Make sure to wear it underneath your jihab. It is haram otherwise." I nodded quickly, father sounded so serious. "Keep it hidden, it would be unfortunate if someone took it." This I easily knew the reason for, smiling as I placed it under my shawl. "Thank you papa."

"Come, let's go back inside."

* * *

For something to be haram, it means something that you should not do. He gave her the necklace but she should not wear it openly because accessories were usually to make one beautiful and women in Islam were to keep their beauty hidden. There was no reason to show it to everyone, just for people who are close to them.


	3. Chapter 3 - Commotion

_Not sure how I'm going to alternate these writings. I kind of want to write between both perspectives and perhaps many more - but I am not that great with english and I could easily make it super confusing. I'm not even sure if my current writing makes any sense to people haha (maybe I need sleep). Anyways, this is done in Ikram's point of view. Maybe I'll do two and two, but what if I want to add more points of views - maybe I can have minor ones added in with page breaks? eeh. wheeeee..._

* * *

_The world flew by so fast, a blur of stone and sand across the landscape. I'm soaring off the buildings in the city; the wind stretched passed me as I moved forward, brushing through my black hair. My eyes started to adjust to the speed, the shapes of the buildings becoming more concrete. Was this Damascus? I looked around me, a city so foreign and in front of me was the sea. Masyaf..? I saw the ports with their ships. Birds of white plumage flew passed me, obscuring my vision of the blue ocean. There was another bird flying with the seagulls…chasing them..? Feathers of pure white snow, but a hooked beak and cruel yellow eyes, its talons outstretched! _

_ As if the world had slowed down, I was no longer in flight. The world spun upside down as time seemed to speed up again._

_ I was falling._

I sat up so quickly I saw my sister jump with fright, falling onto her feet. _Bah, that means I overslept didn't I? _I had not slept enough the night before and so the prayers before dawn took a lot out of me. I came home and fell asleep soon after it, but lessons were prepared today for Asra and I. I pulled the rest of my blankets off. I blinked a few times to adjust my sight as well as trying to make sense of what I had dreamed about, but the vision had vanished. The sun had just risen into the sky, hanging softly outside my window – morning. All I did was stare at my room, the plain walls and the wooden drawer next to my bed. I grasp the handle of the drawer door, but then changed my mind about opening it. Ugh, mornings always through me off - what was I suppose to be doing again?

"Momma said I was to wake you. Are you okay?" my sister asked as I grabbed her arm and helped her off the floor. I nodded. Then I ran out the door, hearing Asra's feet following me. Our teacher Bakr was standing in the living room, waiting. He seemed as old as the parchments he was holding, each piece of paper without a touch of dust regardless of its aged demeanor. He pointed towards the chairs at the dinner table and we hurried to our seats. Mother walked up to the counter putting away the rest of the dishes, humming a song to herself. She was wearing a beige hijab, the soft cloth hid her hair and in her arms was a length of colored fabric.

"I am heading out." Mother placed the cloth in a bag as she walked towards the house door. She adjusted her dress a few times, and pulled on her shawl. "Please behave with Bakr hm?"

"Where are you going mama?" Asra asked.

"Where is father?" I added.

"Asra, Zahra is getting engaged. I will be going to the tailor today to make her a gift. Your father will be busy preparing for your trip to Masyaf, Ikram." Mother looks at us for a second time before heading out the door. "I will be back soon."

'Now, shall we see if you have improved since the last time I was here Ikram?" Bakr placed few manuscripts he had down in front of us. Most of Bakr's lessons were taught by listening to him speak. He has access to the libraries in the upper-city. But when I saw the pieces of parchment in his hand my heart sank. Picking out the parchment and ink, he sets it in front of me. I groaned, cursing quietly in my mind. _Ugh, the one thing I don't care for..._my writing was terrible and everyone knows it – wasn't speaking the language enough? I understood why mother would pay for someone to teach us, but why was it so boring? I let my disapproval show.

"Ikram, your sister could finish writing all pieces of the Surah Al-Fatihah before you even start your name!" my face flushed red as Bakr snapped at me. He didn't have to exaggerate the point. Too embarrassed to say anything, I furiously started scribbling down letters, the quill pen scratching the parchment loudly.

"What should I do teacher?" I heard Asra speak up. I wanted to turn my head to see if she was looking at my writing but Bakr's presence kept my eyes on my paper. The ink smelled of iron, slightly acidic, odd.

"I believe I can have you study basic arithmetic. It would be useful for you to keep track of domestic finances if your husband does as much traveling as your father does child." Bakr ran his hand through his full gray beard, reading through the titles of each small book before handing one to my sister. I quickly averted my eyes and focused what was in front of me again. I could hear my sister's feet shuffle uncomfortably.

Hours had passed by, and I had written so many things – some legible, others a giant black mess – that my wrist protested from the ache of overworking it. I leaned forward, resting my head in my arms. I wanted to go outside, do something – just no more writing! I glanced up from where I laid, my head still resting on the table. Asra was getting bored too, I could tell from the pictures she had doodled on her parchment.

"Asra, I thought you were supposed to be good at writing."

"I am! I'm just copying how you do it." Asra laughed, as I fixed my posture and pulled the parchment from her. I looked at the scribbles. One of them was a picture of me being crushed by a pile of books. Or bricks. Whatever. I crumpled it in my palm.

"Hey!" Asra cried out but then covered her mouth as she realized she might have been too loud.

But Bakr wasn't paying attention to us. Not anymore. He seemed to be watching something outside the window.

"Is something wrong?" I moved myself off the chair. My back was hurting from all the sitting anyways.

"It seems there has been an incident, you two stay here." Bakr replied as he headed outside.

I quickly walked towards the window; people were running, lots of them. They were going back into their homes. I saw our aged teacher stop one of them, a middle aged woman. I could feel my sister's fingers on my shoulder as she tried to get my attention.

"What's happening?" Asra moved towards me to see out the window as well.

"Sh." I tried to listen in on the conversation Bakr was having with the lady but there were many voices.

"Some strange men started attacking by the market center!"

"The guards should fix the problem soon - we should be careful for now."

"Mama is at the tailor's Ikram," Asra looked at me with her brown eyes - concerned, I stared back.

"She's probably fine, the tailor she visits isn't even close to the center of the town." I reasoned.

"So what now?" Asra asked quietly, her hands clung to each other – fingers fidgeting nervously.

"We wait obviously." I scratch my head furiously as I watched my sister. I could hear commotion outside, people gathering and conversing with each other. Ikram looked up. Neighbors were walking out of their homes, talking. Perhaps the guards had stopped the commotion. Was mother okay? Where was father, what is happening right now? I scoffed impatiently.

"Well, I'm done waiting." I leap onto my feet. "I'm going to see what's going on outside," _and look for mother_, I thought to myself. I just didn't want to sit inside anymore. Mother was taking too long.

"Stay here okay? I'll be right back" slipping out the back window, I ran down the dirt path.


	4. Chapter 4 - A Series of Events

Sigh, I was having a discussion with my friend about hijabs and I think in the middle east, (the head dress which muslim women have to cover their hair) the covers are usually a dark color or black, but I already introduced Asra wearing a blue one. Idk, I'll just...gah. If you have more information on this I would love it if you pmed or commented about it. I would love to learn more about this :).

I guess now I have to say I don't own Assassin's Creed, because I said Al Maulim's name in one sentence. I think I should just remove the tags until I actually have them in the story because they won't appear yet, only the few OCs in my brain.

rawr.

* * *

Like oozing molasses, the soldier let out his last breath in a gurgle of blood, calling limp onto the floor. I discarded the sword which I slit the dead man's throat with. The lamellar armor under the robes could easily distinguish the dead man as a Templar had there been a red cross on his chest. The man belonged to the Saracen army. On one knee, I examined the body closer. Damascus had defended from the Templars and Saracen alike, any large army approaching the city would easily be seen across the desert. Instead, it seemed that some of their men had come in disguise and murdered Nur ad-Din when he was out of the palace. With no ruler, one of his sons will take his place - but who would send their soldiers to fight a man of their own? There was a man in mind, one whom did not aid Nur ad-Din in his attempts of taking over Jerusalem.

Standing, I leap onto the wooden scaffold of a building in progress, moving towards the window of the next home and continue onto the roof. Halim was waiting for me; there were streaks of blood splattered across his white robe.

"I've sent the message to the Rafiq, Zaahir. Although I do not think Al Maulim would be angry if you decided to make sure your family is safe before returning to the order"

"I believe Saladin might enter this city forcefully. The magistrate and three army generals were murdered today. They are trying to create dissension in the army defense before striking." Halim nodded as I turned away. He was one of the spies that work in Nur Ad-Din's guard, he had said the lord had planned on invading Egypt soon. The disputes between Nu Ad-Din and Saladin had become more and more apparent after Saladin refused to send his soldiers to help Nur Ad-Din fight the Crusaders in Jerusalem. Halim's family lived within Masyaf, where the Assassin Order lay – and it seemed wise for me to bring Samina and the children there as well now.

"I must take my leave"

"Safety and peace Zaahir," Halim replied, laughing at the irony in his words. The blood still fresh on his cloak.

The street was completely empty, devoid of the presence of people. Though I wore the robes of an Assassin, it should be time for Ikram to know. As for Samina and my daughter, it would not matter anymore; Masyaf will be our new home. I've tried to keep my identity a secret. Even Ikram, who will apprentice under me, will only know when it was time. I entered my home. Asra and Ikram should be with Bakr today, and yet.

I saw no one.

"Asra? Ikram." I walked by their rooms, both empty. There didn't seem to be any conflict, nothing was thrown around. The table still had Bakr's books. But where was he? I headed towards the backroom and noticed there was a small cut in the window frame. Ikram, that boy – he probably ran off to find Samina. _And what would a 7 year old boy do against an armed man? _I flung open the back door, starting into a run. Ikram ran off and his sister probably tried to follow him. I scaled the nearest house, moving from one building to another, hoping I could catch any sign of my children.

* * *

Perhaps I did not know the back roads we well as I assumed I had. Maybe I should have paid more attention to Bakr's lessons. _Ah, curses._ I turned right, I turned left – neither split in the street did I recognize. But I knew the sun always set near the market. It was the only clue I had. It was starting to get dark soon, the buildings pulled large shadows across the ground – slowly eating away the light. I passed people walking by, all hurrying to their homes.

"If only I could climb to a higher height, I could see the town" I whispered to myself. The dream I had this morning started to come back to me. I had flown over the world, and saw everything in a bird's view. I took the path on the right, suddenly recognizing the sign of the inn down that road. There was someone else on the street, a girl? She was stumbling into the alley near the corner, vanishing from sight. _That better not be who I think it is, _I fumed. Asra, did she follow me?

I ran down the dirt path, turning the corner to enter the Alley. I was about to open my mouth to speak, but I realized that the girl wasn't Asra. Her Jilbab was beige in color – dirt was clinging onto the lower hem. Also, Asra was wearing a blue hijab today – the girl in front of him had a pale green one. She was startled as she turned and saw someone was watching her. I recognized her face.

"Zahra?" I approached her.

"Ikram, soldiers came a-and, and" she sputtered, she was pulling on her shawl tightly as if cold. She was sniffling, there were tears coming out of her eyes. I tried to help her up; there was blood on her sleeves. "Nur ad-Din…he.."

"He is a city official is he not?" I recall his name from Bakr's lessons. _It is' Nur ad-Din,not Dun, DIN. He is one of the men responsible for our safety. '_Bakr's all-knowing voice popped into my head. "He would be heavily guarded."

"Some of the guards turned on each other – there was so much confusion. Mother told me there were evil men in guise as guards. I was hiding; I didn't know who I should trust."

"What happened?"

"My family and I were visiting Nur ad-Din and one of the men there – he – he cut his head off! I was with my mother but the crowd, people were running – I can't find them" Zahra slowly started to back up. I turn and see a figure in white robes. I started backing up as well; I grabbed Zahra and tried to find a way out – but the alleyway had us covered on all sides.

"Don't come closer!" I spoke, a quiver in my voice.

"Wait! Ikram, it's me" I cast a glance at the man's face.

"Father?" I was almost relieved, but there were so many questions. "Why are you wearing that?"

He ignored my question; there was worry in his eyes. He looked to see who was behind me before catching my eye once more.

"Ikram, Asra is not at home," my heart started to sink as my father spoke. _She did try to follow me._

"Where is she, Ikram?"

* * *

For the stuff about Nur Ad-Din, he does die and is buried within Damascus but later moved. But he died of an illness (ahem, poisoned), not actual sword down the neck murder - but Saladin will become "regent" to Nur Ad-Din's chosen heir and slowly take control for himself and complete the unification of Egypt and Syria. He can easily blame both ways of death to the work of an assassin among them.


	5. Chapter 5 - Capture

Just a bit heads up, this chapter has violence in it and uh, bad words ._.; I changed the rating to warn people just in case. This one has been in my head all night, I actually woke up to write it.

I actually just changed the rating back to T after reading some other fanfiction. I get panicky with this stuff idk why, but after reading some mature/Teen stuff in this section I am going to keep this teen. If you think this should be rated M, pm me or send torches and pitchforks. Either way works :3.

* * *

"Wait! Bakr told us to stay he-", I curled my hands into fists, frustrated, frowning at the vanishing silhouette of my brother. I move my hands towards the window sill to pick up the eagle gilded dagger that Ikram had left behind. Picking the weapon up by the sheath, I took a step back as the metal object slipped right out of the leather shell that was holding it – cutting into the wood. It was a lot heavier than I had initially assumed it to be. I pry the dagger from its place and slowly place it back in its casing. I'll remember not to pick it up with the hilt facing the floor next time.

"Ah", I started for the door, realizing that Ikram had already left. I stood just outside, looking at the path my brother was running on. I ran as fast as I could in my jilbab, trying to follow. My slippers definitely were not made to run; I could feel stray stones pressing back up against my feet as they stepped on the dirt path. The dagger I was holding in my hands started to feel heavier and heavier. In a way, I was glad that father and brother talked me out into buying one – though it was not an argument I would have won. Father was being reasonable, and I was simply asking because Ikram had asked. Eventually my run slowed into a walk into halting completely to catch my breath. It was just too difficult to run in this dress! I look down, pulling at the skirt, shaking it with feeble attempts to clean it from the dust and dirt that clung on it. This was why I needed Ikram to wait, he always ran too fast! _And he never listens to me!_ I tapped the front of my slippers on the road, in slight anger.

Over my own lungs trying to collect air, I heard the heavy breathing of another person. I turned to see that Bakr had followed me. Even though I was angry, there was a feeling of butterflies in my stomach. _Oh no_, I thought over and over as I realized just how much trouble I was about to be in – and Ikram! He had already gone! The aged man slowly walked towards me, his finger pointing but no words were spoken as he was too busy trying to catch his breath. The wrinkles around his eyes fixed into an angry frown.

"You were to stay inside!" Bakr coughed. "It is dangerous out here at night, and to think there are murderers on the loose within the middle district would be the day you two decide to run off! Where is your brother?"

"He left to see what happened, I ju-"

"That boy! The sheer impulsiveness that rings from his skull is astounding!" Bakr turns to me, "Leaving you in the house alone, thinking you wouldn't follow? I may be old but even I pay attention to details." I fixed my eyes towards the floor. Bakr shook his head, his hand placed on his forehead as if he had a headache. "Perhaps it is my fault for leaving you two alone in the first place."

"Asra, we are going back to the house now." Bakr placed his hand on my shoulder. Just then did I realize how dark it was getting, the sun ready to rest below the horizon. The sky now wore a dark purple hue. I glanced wearily at the shadows of evening, realizing that I was being stupid for running off after my brother. I was neither fast enough to catch up with my brother, nor was I strong enough to hold a simple weapon. I could not help but worry for mommy and now Ikram as well. I didn't want to cause trouble and I had done just that as I blindly decided to follow my brother through the streets of the city – and I did not even successfully find him. Father would be so angry. Bakr was already angry, and he would tell papa.

"Bakr, do you think mama and Ikram are okay?" I asked quietly.

"I was told the fighting started within the center of the market and on the edge of the higher city district. Your mother should be fine," Bakr reassured. "Your brother, Well, he'll be fine until I find him. If only he wrote as quickly as he moved and didn't run off at the first thought." I smiled a little at the statement. There were sounds of footsteps in the distance. Bakr stopped me.

It happened so quickly.

A man sprung from the blackness, the light of the coming moon reflected on the cold surface of his sword. Bakr grabbed the dagger in my hands, pulling it from the leather casing and cutting into the neck of the attacker but not before receiving the sword through his ribs. The rogue screamed, which quickly silenced into a gurgle as pools of blood spurted from his open throat. I clung to the eroded wall by the pathway, my nails digging into the hard stone, white in fear. Bakr pushed the dead man onto the floor, wheezing as he held his bleeding would. The red, crimson red – the world was so dark and yet I could see the blood as clear as day.

"Run, Asra!" more blood. Red and dripping, drops pooling on Bakr's grey beard. My body pulled me into a run, blindly in the dark as the fear of dying consumed my soul. My wide eyes had caught the last glimpse of my teacher, as another man had appeared and cut him down. The roads looked narrower as if they wanted to close in on me and trap me. It was night and the market area I was in empty. Still I ran in search of a light in the black world, anything to signify someone was home and could help me.

The rocks stabbed at my feet, but I could feel no discomfort with the amount of adrenaline coursing through my body.

I could hear words, footsteps that seemed to echo and echo within my head, getting louder and louder.

And louder.

I cried out as I fell, tripping over the long skirt of my dress. My face fell into the dirt. I scramble to get up; I could taste the metallic flavor of my blood as I had cut my lip. There was dirt in my fingers as I scraped the floor to hold myself. There was another taste in my mouth as I recall the images of the blood that spilled across the floor. The dying eyes of the man who assaulted us, glazing over as the last of his life left him.

I lurched over and vomited.

I was in tears, scared for my life – how quickly it could vanish by the steel of a cruel blade. I continued to throw up whatever I had eaten and when my stomach was empty, I could feel my stomach still trying to churn out nothing. I gasped for air while water fell from my face but I was too scared to cry, to whimper, and to make a sound. It didn't matter _nothing mattered_, I thought to myself as I heard footsteps enter from the distance. I was shaking, my teeth chattering not from the cold but from the violence reaction my body just had. One of the men pulled me from the ground.

"I can't tell if this is the girl we were looking for."

"It doesn't matter, the slaver will take her. They've accepted every bitch we've caught today"

My legs were wobbling. I was exhausted but I was afraid. I was no longer holding back my crying. I was thinking about momma and papa and how I wanted to see them. I had never wanted to see them so much – my heart was hurting from the wish. Then the hand that had me at the shoulder gave me a hard shake.

"Shut your trap girl" the slaver snapped as I quieted down – soft whimpering. "We aren't killing you. That old bastard killed one of my men. Don't give us another reason."

"Who would have guessed the chaos today would be such a benefit to us," One of the men laughed. The roads were no longer recognizable to me. The houses were getting scarcer; the group must have been taking me further out of the city, towards the outskirts of town. I stumbled on my feet but quickly fixed myself. In the distance I saw more men under the cover of darkness, swords in their hands.

Along with women, girls, and boys, all huddled quietly in the silent darkness.

The poor district, located on the outermost parts of town was a slum filled with thieves. Families that situated here lived in fear in the day as well as the night – for guards did not patrol here often, usually for their own protection. I never thought I'd ever be here; I just wanted to be home. _With mother, father, Ikram_, I thought over and over, mother, father, brother in circles, looping until my head hurt.

"The guards are too busy trying to find new boots to lick," a man spat. "Alright, split them up"

The man who was detaining me pushed me towards the group. I stumble forward, falling. Then there was movement. They pulled the group into fours. A woman helped me up and guided me into one and away from the swords that swung to hurry us. My eyes blinked into and out of reality, I tried to force them open but my eyelids kept trying to shut. I was tired, so tired. _I want my mommy, papa…_

It felt like I had closed my eyes for a moment, but as I opened my eyes – I was lying down. The floor was moving and I could hear the clopping of horse shoes on the sand. I glanced around, dawn was rising. The sun was waking to greet the world, shining bright, unaware of the events which happen under the cover of darkness. Its rays couldn't keep me warm. I turned my head and saw the woman who had helped me.

I looked around. Tired faces of children, some older, some my age, all huddled in the wagon. There were boxes stacked high up to the wagon covers to block the opening – to prevent any suspicion that the cart was holding kidnapped people.

"This will be a long trip, child." The woman said to me.

I just placed my head in my knees. There was nothing to say.


	6. Chapter 6 - Destination

_Hello owo, for those who are reading, if you see any problems in my grammar or you see contradictions in my writing, please tell me. I'm not very good with English and I want to also try to make this merge with history that makes sense. Before Saladin controlled Syria, Nur ad-Din was its ruler and both practice religious tolerance. So there did exist Christians within the cities. Also, this was the time the emigration of Gypsies moving throughout the middle east occurred as well. _

* * *

_The sky was in its transition, ready to change from night to morning, dawn. Not yet had the grand sun rose into the sky, still just behind the horizon waiting for his time. I was kneeling on the floor, my hands were placed palms-down on my lap. Mommy hummed a slow but warm tune to herself as she brushed my hair. My hair was quite a character, mother would say. It would cling and knot, refusing to give way to the stroke of a comb. I would pull my hair at night, trying to part the tangles, the conflict and would just let it be. But my mother was patient. Slowly did she bring the brush upon my head and unraveled the dark mess I claimed as hair. Never once would I complain that momma was pulling on my hair too hard, because she never did. She brushed my hair and it smoothed out like magic. I wrap my hijab around my head, covering my hair with the dark gray cloth. I tuck the ends in just to be secure. I then ran to join Zahra and the other girls sitting by the corner. We were getting ready for our prayers. Mother went to place the mats on the floor with the other women._

_ 'We are to accept our neighbors regardless of their beliefs', mother had said. Yet I hear the gossiping, the quiet murmurs and looks Zahra gets. I look at her, concerned, but she only smiles. Her grey eyes sad, but determined. They gave away her origins. Her mother was a Christian woman, a woman of bright blue eyes and hair golden like the sand. Zahra took after her mother and father, silver eyes and dark hair. She was half European but she followed Islam because of her father. I've always thought her as beautiful, even with the hijab covering her hair – her eyes were so piercing. Her mother did not join us in prayer.' She was under the course of the moon, so she couldn't pray anyways' Zahra said. 'Don't worry Asra, they only whisper out of curiosity, Zahra always sounded so confident in her words 'All they have to do is talk to me and they'll know I am no different from them!' _

_ Sure enough, when her intentions were clear, there was nothing to be afraid of. There was just a room of little children laughing and talking of what they wanted to do today, the things they wanted to see or get. Buckets lay in front of us and we took turns washing our hands and feet while being careful not to get our clothing too wet. Mother comes and quiets us down; I hear the bell of the mosque ring. Men prayed at the mosque, and the women at home. All of us get up from the ground and stand by the mat, lining up. We face the window which opened towards the shrine in Mecca, Kabah. I looked at my feet, hands to my chest as I listened for the opening prayer: takbiirah._

_Allahu Akbar, prayers had started. Before the dawn, we were to perform two units of prayer._

_The first rakah was spoken and in reply we kneel:_

_Subaana rabiyya-al-a'iim three times spoken, and we stand. _

_The body of a dying soldier falls in front of me. His eyes empty, his throat ripped open with parts of his flesh just barely attached to the side of his neck. _

A nudge, a shake, a shove and I jolt into reality. I blink my eyes rapidly, trying to pull them open without actually touching them with my hands. My fingernails were caked with dirt and sand. Another little girl had gotten sand in her eyes from rubbing too hard and would have been infected had Janan not cleaned it out for her. Janan was the woman who helped me walk that night. I sigh, barely a sound emitted as my throat was too dry. Not even my good memories could be re-lived without the reminder of that man. _Bakr too…_I shake my head, wanting to forget but I couldn't. The image existed when my eyes were open or closed, and my dreams were stained with the same person dead and bleeding. I stare blankly at the ground. Dust and dirt clung to my dress and shoes. My lips, cracked. The cut I had received scabbed, the blood still caked on the side of my mouth.

There were other children around me. They all sat in the wagon still, their legs aching from the same crunched up positions they had been sitting in. I sat in silence, listening to some of the conversations that would come up from time to time.

"No guards, kidnappers do what they please where I live"

"One of my sisters was taken a year ago."

"My father was taken by war, my mother the plague."

It was noon and the 'traders' had stopped to wait out the sun. The boxes which obstructed the opening of the wagon were removed. Who would dare try to escape, with the desert surrounding us on all sides? There was crying and I glance up absentmindedly. I turn my head to look out of the wagon. In the distance, a boy was on his knees, Janan was wrapping a splint between the joint of his elbow. There was a blotch across the side of his arm, a bruise of purple and red. One of the men who were driving the wagon walked towards them. Janan stood over the boy. I wasn't paying much attention, I watched them converse. But it got louder. It looked like she was trying to reason with him. I glance around and realize the other children were sitting and watching. We were silent, now.

"It is only a sprain," Janan looked up at the man; my attention was now on her. She was between the boy and a sword that the man held in his hand. The slaver grabbed her by her collar and shoved her to the side. With a swing, the weapon cut right through the boy and he no longer cried. Janan flinched back in fear as the man feigned a swing at her, then he laughed as he spat on the ground, heading back into his tent. Janan pulled herself up from the ground and walked towards us.

"What happened, Janan?" one of the girls asked. She had reddish brown hair and green eyes. She was one of the girls from the non-Muslim community. Damascus allowed people of all religions to live in its walls.

"We are almost at the next town," Janan shook her head, "the boy got too close to the horses, they stepped on his arm. The man considered him deadweight"

"And yet…" Janan whispered to herself. "We are so close."

"So close to what Janan?" another girl asked. Janan only smiled. I wondered what she meant as well. It has been well over a week or so of traveling. There was only one time the bandits had stopped and it was to add a second group of men, a second wagon. I found it strange, as we were only children, ones the men had randomly taken from the streets – some with no family to their name. We were expendable, just as the boy who lay dead outside. No longer could he be seen, the wooden boxes and supplies once again covered the opening. Janan sat with us again. She was not with us the other night, and we were afraid she had been sold or killed. But she came back today and no one else thought anymore of it. The wagon had started to move, each bump from hitting stones and uneven ground made us bump into the walls. Everyone listened to the hooves of the horses and the turning of the wheels.

"Feel that?" a brunette spoke, after a few hours had passed.

"What?" one of the boys asked.

"Exactly. We must be headed towards a big city,"

"How do you know?" I looked at the girl sitting in front of me. She was older than me by a few years, She had an old scar that ran across her cheek that was so covered in grime I could no longer see it now. Sabina was her name.

"I've traveled lot with my parents. We were nomadics ya' know? I could feel the difference between traveling on well paved roads and roads with just shit and dirt" her eyes looked at me; a small smile appeared on her face as she appeared proud of knowing something she could share. Only one side of her face had a dimple when she did, smirking.

The wagon slowed to a stop.

"Halt and state your business," A voice said. Everyone in the wagon quickly quieted.

"What is this? We are not even at the entrance to your city and you stop us?"

"We are taking precautions"

"Of what? We have done nothing wrong."

"We have not accused you of anything, we ar-"

"We just wanted to make sure you weren't Mongols trying to sack the city, isn't that right?" Another voice spoke up, with a hint of amusement trailing behind. If his comment was supposed to be a joke, it certainly did not impress our captor very much.

"Do the words coming out of my mouth sound Mongolic to you?!" The slaver replied, his temper rising. Swords were drawn, there was a yell. Crimson red suddenly cloaked the side of the wagon cover and brought forth our screams from inside the wagon. We tried to keep ourselves below the walls made of wood as the sound of metal clashing and screaming came from outside. I covered my head with my hands, my heart quickening in beats as I prayed that no weapon would cut through the wagon's cloth cover and cut any of us. I knew it wasn't acceptable to pray when unclean but I couldn't help it.

The fighting was stopped as quickly as it had escalated. I looked at Sabina, she looked at me, her eyes wide from fear, but there was curiosity as well – what had happened? Just as Janan stood up, a sword cut through the fabric of wooden wagon. It almost looked as if it would cut the woman right in the torso, but it stopped.

"Only you think this to be funny, Assassin." Janan scoffed. Sabina and I share glances again. What was happening?


	7. Chapter 7 - Leaving Damascus

I was thinking about making this chapter from Zaahir's or Samina's point of view because Ikram is in the other room sleeping when most the conversation happens. Or perhaps Zahra's POV but I'm not good with this switching around and I don't want too many views cause then it gets confusing. I wanted to write about Samina's concern with her husband and his faith in Allah ie during a time when he would miss times of prayer. His reasons purely come from being an Assassin, which make him a bit cynical in the views of life and the Creed "Nothing is True, Everything is Permitted" has given him much thought of his place in this world. Ikram's discussions with Zahra would be what he is currently thinking, but his father sees more than just the present and is trying to anticipate the future. Zaahir wants more than a single day to track down Asra, but he is conflicted with the fact that Saladin could at anytime take over Damascus - an enemy of the Assassins. He wants the rest of his family safe before searching, it was a pick of priorities. I mean, not to be cynical myself - but Asra is a girl. At this time period, the privilege of being a man over a woman was incomparable. I think I'll just try to stick with Asra and Ikram's POV, two chapters for each I guess..? I've actually written some other stories to define a better picture of existing characters in my head, but meh. Just bad at describing anything in general.. ;/

* * *

"Samina," I could hear father pleading with mother. The voices had woken me from the little sleep I had the night before. "We must go to Masyaf –"

"Then you go!" mother cried. Her usual composed self was not present and it only made the pangs of guilt in my stomach chew away at me more. "I cannot leave. I will not leave."

I turned to face the wall, the dagger which father had found. It was stained in blood. There were other men blocking my vision as they took my teacher away, but I saw enough to know the body of the dead. I had seen Bakr lie dead on his stomach, his side cut open. I've seen dead rats, birds which fell from the sky and could only move their wings in one motion before being released from life. It was just different seeing dead men. _The dagger, the bloody dagger – and Asra! She followed me, followed when I told her not to. I didn't want her to follow me, but I knew she would, right? Why did I not notice, why did I not realize – why, why, why?_ I clenched my fists, placing them by my head as I lay on my side, squeezing my palms so hard my nails dug into them.

Mother had already arrived home when Father took Zahra and I back. She had crushed me in a hug, full of worries and tears. Father told Zahra and I to head into the other room as he went to speak with mother. They had talked quietly; father was going to look for Asra. He answered little the questions mother had imposed on him about his Assassin robes, saying he would answer when he had time – and hurried out. Mother did not come speak with me as time moved into midnight and passed. That was a while ago. I had fallen asleep by then.

I got up from the floor. I gave Zahra my bed, but I saw that she did not use it – she only sat there.

"Have you slept?" I asked her, her sunken eyes already gave me my answer.

"They didn't find her," she said quietly, she had been listening to the conversation since it had started.

"Your parents, then?" Zahra shook her head. "We were in company of the guards that attacked Nur ad-Din. They cut everyone down in front of them…perhaps mother…but…"

We sat in silence for a moment; as we listened to my parents argue. The atmosphere seemed calmer, mother no longer sounded as angry.

"Your father wants to take you and your mother to Masyaf, but your mother wants to stay in case Asra comes back," Zahra looked towards the window. It was too early in the morning for the sun to be out yet.

"If she comes back."

"No. She will!" Zahra replied quickly. I didn't know how she could be so sure. How would Asra react to me, would she blame me for leaving her alone? Mother and Father had not said anything yet, they didn't want me to feel guilty but I did. Not only is Asra gone, but Bakr probably died helping her.

"Father said she could have been taken by kidnappers."

"Well maybe she got away." Zahra looked at me, her eyes like bright gems.

The door opened and mother walked into the room. No tears fell on her cheeks, but I could see the brightness in her eyes that showed she had cried recently. She had already taken her hijab off, her black hair cascaded in waves below her shoulders.

"Come children, we are heading for Masyaf. Zahra, my husband told me he could not find your parents. I have stayed up all night and they did not come home. I've requested that if we were to leave, we take you with us. It is too dangerous to leave you alone here," Mother smiled weakly, tired.

"I thank you," Zahra stood from the bed, giving a slight bow. "Thank you for finding me when I was in trouble."

"Ikram, let us go," Mother walked over to me, helping me stand. A soft sigh could be heard as she saw the eagle gilded dagger I held in my hands. I couldn't bring myself to look at her, my head looking at my feet move as we headed outside. There was another man in white riding one of the two horses attached to the carriage, a black horse with a wild mane. Mother helped Zahra up into the wooden wagon. I saw mother look at me, waiting to give me a hand, but I stood in place.

"Father."

"Ikram, we should get going." Father replied.

"But what if Asra does come back? We should keep looking for her," I spoke partly out of wishful thinking and guilt. I wanted to know my sister was alive and that she could be found somewhere. The city was big enough for her to still be here.

"Ikram, Bakr did not die without a struggle, someone had taken her. If you were to find her, I doubt you would be able to help her. I am I was able to find you." The words stung a blunt fact of truth. There was no venom within Father's statement though; I finally decide to raise my head to look at him. He was neither angry with me nor my words. Actually, I couldn't tell what he was thinking at all. Perhaps that was what hurt the most. I wanted my parents to scold me; to yell at me and tell me what I've done was wrong. That my choice in running off was why my sister, my twin, was gone, but they stayed silent, as if nothing had happened. I felt something warm well up in my eye and dropped down on my cheek as I blinked my eyes.

"This is my fault."

"Ikram, no one could have predicted what would happen to Bakr, what would happen to Asra, just as how a regular day can change into one we have experienced. These events are beyond your control. To blame yourself for a situation such as this would be pointless." Father kneeled down, to look me in the eyes. "You are just a child, but you will soon realize that pain and suffering happen every day. But we are heading to Masyaf, and perhaps, you will learn how to be strong. But I will repeat again, what happened was not your fault. Do you understand?" I could only nod. Did I agree with what he said? I don't know. But I was secretly grateful for his words.

"Child, get over here before I change my mind about leaving and your father has to spend another day convincing me." mother gently pulled me from father and onto the carriage.

The horses had started moving, and I could see the sky turn lighter shades of purple, and then to blue. I heard the bell that signified the time of prayer. At this time, I usually would be walking towards the mosque – a grand building with a domed rooftop and four spires towering towards the sky. The approaching morning made me realize how little I had slept, my body responded sluggishly. I leaned on mother's shoulder, blinking in and out of the darkness. I heard my mother whisper something before I fell asleep.

"Do you still pray, Zaahir?"

* * *

Also, Samina has her hair uncovered during this chapter. Muslim women can show their hair to other women and men who are not considered men that the woman can get married to. So within their family, their brothers, fathers, father's brothers, father's sons, grandchildren, men without the desire - you get the idea. So Samina could have her hair uncovered, but Zahra can't. Muslim children actually don't need to wear a hijab. But in the 1100's...? It is hard to describe when a muslim girl is still a girl. Yes, she is 7, but she was also getting engaged...before her future husband got cut to pieces that is :S..


	8. Chapter 8 - HomsEmesa

This chapter was me trying to flesh out character and conversation. I tried to make it smooth but I always had to stop and take interval breaks to think about how to write it. I also had a problem with trying to figure out how in the world you tell a child about the occupation of an Assassin. Just how did Umar even tell Altair what he did. I guess since you're young, if someone tells you something, you tend to just trust their reasoning? He was born into the order so I guess it was just how he was brought up and he never questioned what he did. Also once again, I feel that it is a good idea to write past midnight. For those reading, if you see any glaring/burning/evil problems with this story please tell me. I've noticed a few times I would switch between a past and present tense and I tried to fix it where I found it.

* * *

The ride from Damascus to their current location took two days. Father had only stopped once to rest the horses at Al Nabk, leagues behind us. The other man who was with father had introduced himself to us as Halim. He had convinced father to stop and rest. At the inn, I could hear him snore behind the wooden door to his room this morning. The man whom owned the inn seemed to know father, who called the place a 'safe house' or sorts for when an Assassin would require a place to stay. Mother had gone with the other women that worked at the building to clean clothing, blankets and fix food. I had been wearing the same shalwar for too many days than I would have liked. I had been sitting in the wooden bath for what could have been forever but didn't feel long enough. The water had already started to lose its heat, lukewarm in temperature. I washed my face and hair, glad of ridding the grime that had started to layer on my skin. A new shalwar kameez was placed for me on the counter and I was glad to wear some new clothing as my older shirt was covered in dirt and sweat. Pulling the loose cloth on, I ran out of the bathing room on the second floor of the building. I spotted Zahra sitting by the window, her hands on the table in front of her. Her black shawl matched the jilbab she wore. Her complexion was fairer than it had been. How pale she was when I had first saw her in the alleyway. By her arm on the table was the gilded dagger gifted to me by Ghalib.

"Samina said she will be by the river cleaning laundry, and don't wake your father. He needs to sleep." Zahra held out a cloth in her hand with two pieces bread. "One of the women gave me some food to eat."

"Thank you," I slowly took a piece, careful not touch her hand in the process. Allah was probably already upset that I had missed prayer the two days I had been travelling – I didn't want to be more upsetting than I have already been – as mother had kept reminding us. I think she and father had another discussion about this recently. This morning after Halim told father to stop and rest, I with mother and Zahra had gone to the mosque directed by him. She made us clean our hands and feet quickly and we prayed right outside the holy house with the other women that were in the city. The building looked different from the other mosques I've seen in Damascus. Its rooftop was flat, with many towers and made of some kind of brick.

"The mosque looked funny. The one we went to today," I noted out loud as I took a bite out of the small loaf of bread. I could breathe in the fresh smell of bread, the soft textures indicating it had been made today.

"It could have been a Church converted Mosque," Zahra replied thoughtfully. She had taken her piece of bread and broke them into many pieces before eating them. "Homs was a Christian territory before the Muslims became the majority that lived here. It was called Emesa."

"Really? I remember Bakr calling it Emesa before. I think?" I liked when Bakr gave lessons on history, but only when it had involved a conquest or war. "Where did you learn that from?"

"My mother taught me," Zahra smiled slightly, making sure to keep her mouth closed when she ate. "Her family was originally from France. Her father was a general and he sometimes discussed the wars."

"Why did she come to Syria?"

"I'm not sure, I've never thought to ask." Her smile faded at the thought of her mother. I decided it was time to stop asking, realizing I was overstepping. "Er, that would explain the flat rooftop. Actually, while you had slept when we were still in the wagon, there was an old building with stained glass windows still intact." Zahra said quickly, trying to change the topic.

"Stained glass?" I pondered at the things Zahra was telling me. I hadn't really spoken to her before. Usually Asra was the one who visited her, and I usually was glad to be able to run out with my friends without Asra following.

"It's, hm…" Zahra glanced pensively at the window in the room, which had its wooden shutters open for us to view the people outside. "Imagine glass of many colors and they fit on windows and make pretty pictures."

I tried to imagine plates of glass being attached to the window In front of me one by one of multiple colors. The image kept vanishing and I had to remake the picture again and again in my head. I guess it was just too hard to picture something I've never seen before. I heard a stifled giggle my eyes quickly shifted towards Zahra. She looked at me, eyes bright. Did I make a weird face?

"What?"

"Honestly Ikram, I'm sorry," Even though Zahra had her black sleeves pulled up to cover her mouth, I could still tell she was smiling behind it. "Forget it."

"No, wait, what did I do?"

"Nothing, I promise you."

"Zahra!" now she was just getting annoying. Asra did this too, expecting me to understand something without telling me. I huffed, crossing my arms. What did I do? I don't know, but I definitely know what the scowl on my face means. The door downstairs opened and voices entered the hall. Zahra took this chance to head downstairs, leaving me sitting there. I hear footsteps once more, and I see Halim walk up the stairway's path. His white hood was not up and I could see his short black hair, the stubble on his chin, and a deep cut that extended from the edge of his right eye to his right ear – or half a right ear. It was still red, a fresh wound that was covered by a dark bloody cloth.

"That cut on your face."

"This? Oh, of course you mean this," Halim tapped the wound on the side of his face; his lively brown eyes seemed amused at his own comment. "It happened when I was eating dinner, tragic it was. I fell asleep on a knife I was holding and a part of my ear was cut clean off."

I stared at him, incredulous of the story. "W-what?" I couldn't tell if that was a joke or not.

He had a grin on his face and broke into a slight laugh. I guess everyone knows what is going on today but me. After a quick moment, Halim had his fun and pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down in front of me.

"I've heard a bit about you from your father Ikram. I didn't know he had a family."

"You work with him?"

"Well, he was in Damascus to bring you to Masyaf. I was doing my own investigations and it had led me to the city as well."

I had been looking at the wound on Halim's face for a while. He didn't seem offended by it at all. I wondered what these assassins did. It seemed simple as the name implied, they killed people. Father came home to take me to Masyaf, to be an assassin? Was he going to teach me how to fight, like a soldier that joins the army?

"You kill people." I realized the words came out of my mouth as a statement. Halim raised an eyebrow in surprise, but a smirk quickly surfaced on his lips.

"I think you will understand more when you learn of our creed. We only take a life when there is no other option. We do not harm the innocent." Halim shakes his head. "I am no teacher. The words will make more sense when you start your training."

"I'll learn how to fight?" my attention drew back to the dagger on the table, now clean of blood stains. Had Asra known how to use it, could she have saved herself? _Such wishful thinking_, I thought to myself as father's words came back into mind. For a quick moment, I remembered what I had said to my twin that day I had first held the dagger in my hands. I was still angry at Asra when father took us to the market because she had pushed me the day before. But holding something in my hands that father would not allow Asra to get, I felt satisfied. _She didn't need a weapon, she's a girl. _So I told her I would protect her. _Instead, I run off without her and…_my mood suddenly soured. _It was her fault for leaving, she shouldn't have followed me,_ my mind reasoned, but it only made me feel sadder than it did to make me feel better. I look back at Halim, who was staring at me. He had been quiet, as if he could see I was in thought.

"Well as a novice, your first lessons will be in stealth." Halim pulls his hood over his head, the white cover pulling a shadow over his face as he turned his head towards the stairway.

"It seems your friend there is already practicing." Halim joked with a laugh. I follow his gaze to see Zahra partially hidden behind the door as she looked in.

"I hope I'm not intruding on your conversation." Zahra smiled, but she remained behind the door frame. "I just wanted Ikram to know we should go pray."

"Well then, you two should get going. I think an afternoon of sleep should be enough for Zaahir." Halim moves out of his chair and stands. "Although from the lack of snoring, I would assume he had awakened a while ago."

Zahra waited for me as I headed for the door and we descended downstairs.

"I feel as if I recognize that man." Zahra said quietly as we reached the bottom of the stairway.

"He's the man who brought the horse and wagon." I stated. Zahra shakes her head.

"No, I know that," a soft sigh could be heard. "Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, but I thought I had seen him before that."

"He had business in the city, maybe you saw him while he was walking around." I saw the image of Halim and the wound on his face. "Besides, with that big bandage covering his head, I would notice him in a crowd too."

"Ikram, that isn't nice." Zahra reprimanded. But she laughed.


	9. Chapter 9 - Tehran

The middle east is almost entirely controlled by the Muslim. But they did allow Christians to live within their cities, though I'm pretty sure some were treated as second class. In this chapter, Asra is taken with the other children to a christian monastery. There is a weird thing about the high middle ages, but along the all Muslim controlled territory, there is like, a strip, a STRIP of land that has christian influences running from russia to the huns to the cascaus(er however you spell it) past the two rivers right into Syria. Eastern Christianity did not have a difference between temples for monks and nuns. They are in the city of Tehran, or by that area near Lake Urmia. The city has actually been relocated multiple times so I guess I should just say the area around Lake Urmia.

Other than that, if anything else bothers you, tell me :3.

Also, I changed somethings about Sabina from a few chapters ago where she calls herself a gypsy. That was quite ignorant of me, as she would not call herself that it was a name given to a people who is always moving. She would have called herself people of Rom. She is a Domari, or a middle-eastern gypsy. Her people originate from parts of India and they split from there, some heading into Europe, others heading into the middle east.

* * *

Janan helped us out of the wagon and we stumbled towards the city gate. It had been so long since we've been able to move our legs, as if we had forgotten how to walk. My joints ached and my knees wobbled as I moved. We all took glances at Janan from time to time, weary and uneasy. When we had left the wagon, we had seen the corpses of the kidnappers on the ground. The metallic smell of blood carried into our nostrils. The urge to throw up wrestled in my stomach and the back of my throat – but my belly only whined weakly, unable to do more than rumble in discomfort. The slavers that had given up their weapons were being taken with us into the city. I was relieved and uneasy at the same time. Though we were free from one captive, it seemed as if we were being taken again. Some of the younger girls had attached themselves to Janan, who took care of us and I would admit had Janan left us on those wagons alone, I would have been very scared. The sunlight even burned my eyes, which were heavy with the amount of crying I had done every time I thought of my parents and being who knows where from home.

The soldiers rode around us, they carried the corpses of the dead in the wagon we had rode on and they took the second wagon with them. Sabina walked next to me, offering me a hand which I gratefully accepted. Sabina was definitely stronger than many of us, her stance still tall and she wasn't tripping over her own feet like I was. Janan was holding a boy who was too weak to walk, his legs dangled from her arms. I could see feet's shuffling as my head was down, the joking man who had not impressed Janan with his sword tricks was walking next to her.

He seemed to be talking to her but was being ignored. I couldn't recognize the language he was speaking in. The children I sat with had different accents as well, some spoke a softer dialect and others had a sharper tongue but I was sure this man was speaking a whole different language entirely. Either that or I was too tired to understand words, was I hallucinating? The conversation ended as I saw a girl stumble and fall in the corner of my eye. He went to pick her up.

"They took something out of the second wagon. Something important I bet, would explain the amount of soldiers that came out to greet a random wagon." I believe Sabina pointed in front to indicate the wagon the slavers had been using but I did not lift my head, just nodding weakly as we passed through the gates. Moving my head just took too much effort right now. I just wanted to sleep, to lie down. My lips were blistering, the cut stinging and my throat parched. Even as Sabina spoke, I could hear the croaking in her throat as well.

"Ah, domine mi! My poor children!" Another language I could not understand. I only knew it to be a male voice.

Janan greeted the man, 'Raban' I heard. Their voices moved quickly, rolling off their tongues. The monk placed his hands on Janan's shoulders in greeting and then led us through the streets of the city. Paved in flat stones, the people were heading towards their homes as evening headed in. The pathway was no longer as difficult to walk on now that it was not as hot. I could not remember where I had misplaced my shoes, but every step on the sand had pricked my feet. The building we stood before was a grand one made of a stone with a soft hue of sand. The many windows had gentle arches in their center, the rooftops flat. A cross was carved into the main doors of the building. Raban knocked on the door and was greeted by a woman in all black, her entirety was covered, even her hair. Her eyes, surrounded by gentle wrinkles were piercing silvers much like Zahra's. Following her were many of the same attire. They took us from the dusty streets and led us inside the building. I hear words, words I couldn't understand.

"You are safe now, let the sisters help," Janan said. With those words did the children were less hesitant in entering. Who else were they to trust?

Wood plated the flooring, a modest adobe. The torches which are placed above the room were lit, showing the long hallway with many doors on its sides. There were other children in the house, they watched us from their seats – some in chairs others on the floors. Curious eyes, brown, blue, green, all watched. Again, I heard voices speak with each other. Some I could understand, some I could not. I could hear the words 'more' and 'lost' in the Arabic tongue but one word from the black clothed woman watching the children and they quieted down immediately.

Janan took the girls to the baths. Sabina was only holding my hand now, no longer needing to hold me up. The realization that I was no longer in immediate danger had given me some energy. I examined my current surroundings with interest. More women joined the room, helping the girls clean. Sabina let me go, to grab a wet towel to wash her hair and face. It only took a gentle tug and my Hijab came loose. I pulled on the string which I had tied my hair with. I tore at the strands of hair that clung to it, full of grease from the lack of washing.

"Janan," I asked, pleading. "Can you help me?

Janan walks towards me, and I indicate at hair that had become knotted with the string. With a soft laugh, she kneeled in front of me. She pulled out a pair of thin scissors from her bag. She cut the string in parts and slowly pulled them from my hair. Some strands snapped along with it but the pain was minimal. My hair fell on below my shoulders like black drapes covered in grease, dust, and dirt. I couldn't even tell how much oil came off onto my fingers when I touched my hair though, as my whole body was just as covered in dirt.

"There you go, Asra." Janan helps me take off the rest of my dress. "The sisters will have new clothing for you while these are washed."

As she picked up my clothing, something dropped onto the floor. With a clink, I saw the necklace that papa had given me after going to the marketplace. Janan noticed it as well, her eyes were curious as she picked it up. She glanced at the design for a moment before looking at me.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, her finger pointing at the design at the center.

"It was a gift from my father, I, I had forgotten I had it," I wrapped my arms around myself.

"May I hold on to this while you get clean? Do not worry, I will bring it back," Janan assured as she glanced at it one more time.

"What are you going to do with it?" I spoke quietly; any eyes that would watch would make me feel more exposed. The girls were busy though, our conversation was ignored by conversations others were having.

"I wish to show someone this. He is an old friend of mine." Gathering the rest of my clothes, she handed them to another lady and left the room.

"What was that about Asra?" Sabina asked as I sat down in one of the wooden baths.

A surge of water was dumped on me from behind. It was very warm and though sudden I welcomed every bit of heat the liquid was embracing me with. Just being in the tub with water made me feel reinvigorated and I looked at my arms, the dirt that caked the areas around my elbows and wrists softened and I rubbed them clean, quietly delighted.

"I forgot something my father had given me. Janan took it to show someone…" I trailed off, because I myself was not given a reason. Janan simply told me where she was taking it not why. I didn't want Janan to take it. The necklace was the last thing I had of my papa and though it could not replace him, I had nothing else. Janan would give it back, I'm sure.

"Sabina, do you know what language it is they speak?" I ask the brunette. She smiled; a single dimple once again appeared on her face while she smirked.

"They're speaking French and some other language. Mother calls it church language, but I don't know what it is."

"So the man who was speaking the Janan by the wagon was French?"

"No, I don't know what language he was speaking. Maybe that's why Janan was ignoring him. He was speaking a bunch of rubbish." Sabina leaned back against the wooden tub she was sitting in, sinking further into the water. She submerged herself into the water to clean her hair and then got up when she had finished. She leaned out of the tub to get a dry towel and I saw she had more than just one scar on her face. On her dark arms and shoulders I saw marks and small cuts. They were all small; the only significant nick was on her left shoulder blade.

She saw me look and I averted my gaze, embarrassed to be caught staring, quickly scraping at the dirt on my neck.

"Cuts happen when you decide to fight with your brothers and they shove you into a thorn brush," Sabina had stepped out of the wooden encasing and had wrapped herself in a wool blanket. I lean backwards to wet my hair, the soft soap scent drifted from the black strands. I rubbed my hair furiously, trying to get the grime to disconnect from my locks.

"Why would you fight them?"

"I was stronger, of course!" Sabina smiled with pride, her dark eyes were twinkled. "Well I was stronger until they started to mature too. Not to mention having to fight all three of them."

I imagined Sabina fighting her three younger brothers. It was not hard to see. I got out of the wooden tub and dried myself down. Sabina had already dressed and went to find me an extra piece of cloth to cover my hair. I wore the clothing given to me, a loose beige dress. Asking for a string to tie my hair, I then covered my hair with the extra fabric. Sabina's clothing was a grey color.

"I'm surprised the nuns are okay with you," Sabina noted as I finished placing my makeshit hijab. "You know, for being Muslim and all that."

"All children Janan- bring -are seen- as in trouble. We do not turn away." One of the sisters whom had overheard Sabina turned her attention towards us. I glanced at her. She spoke in a broken Arabic; perhaps she was born of here. She wore a cover for her hair just like those who follow Islam. She seemed no different from me in that sense. The thought didn't last very long as the warm smell of food immediately entered my nose. My brain recognized the smell of bread and my stomach quickly grumbled. I had been trying to ignore how hungry I had been, my stomach gnawing on itself but now that odor was so strong, I relished at the thought of eating. As we walked with the nun, she brought us into a large hall. There, we were given bread and a small cup of what looked like milk. I sat next to Sabina, who also eyed her food but had not touched it yet.

"We need to pray before eating," Sabina told me, her eyes were on another child who was told not to eat yet.

"Yes, we must praise Allah as well before a meal." I replied. I knew how long it had been since I've prayed at all, but it felt good to know that I have cleaned myself before doing so.

"Oh really? I didn't know that." Sabina raised an eyebrow at me before lowering her head as the voice of a woman echoed through the room. I still couldn't understand the words spoken, but closed my eyes and prayed as well.

"Bismillahi wa 'ala baraka-tillah (In the name of Allah, blessed by Allah.)" I whispered quietly.

"Christ our God blesses us your servants, our home, the food and drink before us for you are the Source of all blessings, now and forever and ever. Amen." I heard the words echo through the hall, then the sound of many fingers picking up their food.

"Bismillah."

I break the bread into pieces, eating each one by one. I couldn't open my mouth to bite onto the bread as it made my chapped lips blister in pain. My stomach welcomed the food. I sipped the drink in my cup. It tasted funny, mellow and sweet.

"It's almond milk." Sabina caught my reaction to the strange drink. "They dump a bunch of the nuts in water overnight and then take them out and crush them and it creates this." She picks up her cup. A rumble of conversation had started, after downing their food. I see Janan heading towards me. Sitting down next to me and Sabina, she hands back to me my necklace wrapped in a small cloth and I put it away, tucking it into a pocket.

"Feeling better I hope." Janan greets us. She had cleaned and changed as well. She tied her black hair in a bun and wore a beige top and dark green skirt that covered her feet. Following her was the man from before. His head was not covered by the navy hood he had been wearing. He had long black hair tied behind him and bright brown eyes set on his face.

"This is your friend, Janan?" Sabina says. I thought the same thing in my mind. This was the man she was ignoring halfway through the city. Janan scoffs.

"He is no friend of mine," Janan says, smiling as the man replied to her remark in a sarcastic tone. He crossed his arms.

"His mentor, our teacher, would like to speak with you Asra. So if you are done eating, we should go."

* * *

The man in the blue hood is oriental. Assassins' outside of the Levant assassins did not have the white style of clothing I believe until after Altair started spreading his teachings of being an Assassin, but they have existed throughout history. The item they retrieved from the second wagon is the Sword of Eden, end up with Genghis Khan which then leads to his assassination.


	10. Chapter 10

Hello. Finals are coming up, and I guess writing is a way to vent my stress. Well, part of it was because this one took a bit to write - I think I need to write some sketch writing for each character, because I sometimes am not sure how they would react when people say certain things.

* * *

I wrapped the wool cloak Janan had given to me tighter around my body. I could see wisps of my breath in the desert night air. Sabina watched us go, but had remained behind at the building next to the small church. Janan walked with me in silence and behind her the man she calls 'Yun'. He walked silently; I could only hear the soft padding of my feet on the sand. On a night like this, the uneasy feeling rolled into my stomach. Any moment, those soldiers with their swords would appear from the darkness and cut us down. I was shuddering, partially from the cold and of the thought. The back of my eyes started to sting, and my face flushed as I tried to blink tears back. We had been walking for a while before Janad motioned to stop in front of a building. It looked like any other within the city, if not a little worn and broken. On the rooftop was a strange statue and bright light. Janad knocks a few times before the door creaked open.

Had Janad not covered my mouth, I would have screamed at the top of my lungs.

"Sh-Asra! It is okay, he is not one of them." Janad tried to assure me as I stared, eyes wide at the soldier who stood in front of me.

Perhaps it wasn't because it was a man, maybe it was because he had a sword in his hand. Also, the fact that he had armor which gleamed in the moonlight reminded me again and again of a nightmare I didn't want to remember. The armored man did not react to me, but simply moved to let us in. I was guided by Janan through the door as my heart started to calm and my breathing slowed. I clung to Janad's green skirt; tears that I had tried to push back fell from down my cheeks. I quickly wiped them away with my sleeve, and as I did, I saw Yun watch me for a split second before walking ahead of us into the other room. There was more than one soldier in this room, but the others had a different set of armor worn, made of some kind of blocky stone.

It smelled of wood and faint smoke, but the rooms were warm from the fire which burned in the stone pit. The soldiers sat down, some stood. They spoke in a language I could not understand. They gave us a glance before returning to their conversations. Janad and I walked into the room Yun had initially entered. There was a middle aged man sitting down with thin sheets of paper on the table in front of him. It looked different from the parchment Bakr had us use; thinner and longer in length. The man had a beard as pitch black as the hair and eyebrows on his head and yet did not run wild across his face, but fell smoothly in front of him. A few words were exchanged between the man and Yun. Then he beckoned Janad over, who lowered her head in a slight bow before they too spoke with each other. I watched quietly, wondering how the man would speak with me if I could not understand him. He reminded me of the men that came to the markets only once every few months back in Damascus. They brought with them silks and teas.

"So you must be Asra?" I looked down immediately, a bit shocked that I could understand what he said.

"I did not know you could speak my language." I mumbled, raising my head but I could not look at the man directly. I stared at his robes, made of silk and embroidered in different patterns that gleamed in the low light.

"I have obtained some very valuable knowledge in the short time I have lived on this world. Your father had given you a very strange item. I have a few questions for you, Asra. Please hand over your necklace." The man continued.

"You may call me Ci." _Zi_ was how he had pronounced it, and I mouthed the name a few times but too afraid to say it out loud in the case I said it incorrectly. The man seemed quite elated as I hand him the necklace, which I had kept within the pockets of my dress. Ci takes it and holds it in his hands for a moment before placing it in front of him.

"You told Hanan your father gave this to you?" the man inquired.

"Yes."

"Do you know how he acquired the necklace?"

"No, I never asked…" I thought of the time father had given me a present. I was happy to have received a gift, just as my twin had been. I never had to chance to ask, but there was no reason to. I wore the necklace because it was a gift from my father. I would rather have my father here with me instead.

"Do you recognize the symbol on this necklace, Asra?" I shook my head at Ci's words. "We have a similar symbol for this serpent, which swallows its own tail. Like a phoenix which rises from its own ashes to be reborn, this is an image of the eternal cycle of return. Imagine, Janan, the first part of the key was indeed from this side of the world."

I blink at his words. We spoke the same language didn't we? I heard his enthusiasm, but I did not understand what Ci was talking about. I heard Yun speak, his head directed towards the sitting man.

"Yes, we should return home soon." Ci nodded. Facing me, he caught my attention. "I know this was a gift from your father, but it will be of more use to us. We would have been here for many more months to go and search Egypt, but ah! What luck?"

"I want to go home." My voice surprised me. Not a quiver, and almost forceful that it scared me.

"I..I don't really want the necklace. I just want to see my family again, my parents, my brother. Please, ustaaz, mister Ci. Is there a way you can take me home?" I inhaled and sniffed, my eyes brimmed with tears that pooled onto the bottom of my jihab. Janan had placed her palm on my shoulder but it wasn't completely unwanted. I felt alone but the feeling of comfort reminded me of mother when she would hug me and how mother smelled when she had recently cut open a mango purchased from a foreign merchant. Janan was pulling me towards her, but I wanted an answer. I didn't want to be ignored, especially if I could have a chance of going back to Damascus. Now the room was too hot, my face was flushed red. Janan kept trying to move me out towards the door, but I was stubborn.

"Asra." Janan's voice was low.

"We will be heading back towards the east; your home is not on the way to our destination. I'm sorry, Asra. But I cannot afford to send anyone to take you back. If anything, I would advise you stay with Raban and the sisters." Ci speaks a few words to Yun which fade from my ears. I didn't know what they were talking about anyways, and Janan had already taken me out of the room. We headed outside.

"So even you cannot take me home?" We had departed the building and were heading back to the church.

"No, I'm afraid I cannot. I must go back with my teacher. Our kingdom is at war, and we must find a way to take back control."

"How did you end up in Damascus, Janan?"

"I was in Egypt. I was travelling with a family but they were stopped by the same bandits that had taken you. They took the children and the women from the wagon and split them up before heading to Damascus as well – some children went to Cyprus. "

"So we were lucky they were going to stop in Tehran." A quick smile appeared on Janan's face from my comment.

"There was more to it, but luck does take part."

The image of the church neared, I could see its outline brought to light by the pale moon. We were approaching the wide doors of the sleeping quarters next to it, the giant wooden doors shut to keep the cold air out. I walked up onto the stairs I didn't want to stay here. Not only had I realized I could not go home, but I was not even a Christian. I was not like Zahra; I couldn't handle such a change. The children had stared at us as we had walked into the building in the morning. I couldn't trust myself to be as strong.

"If I can't go home, can I go with you?" I turn away from the doors, but Janan was no longer there. My eyes watch the darkness, searching for a brief moment.

"Janan?" I called, two times, each louder than the last. The door behind me opens with a click and creak as I jump in place.

"Sabina!" I moved my hands from my chest as I exhaled in relief. I grab her hand and pull her to follow me. I was expecting her to pull back, but she ran with me.

"So, where are we going?" The dark brunette was taller than me by quite a bit. She could easily outpace me had she known where I was going. I looked up at the rooftops, trying to spy the light I had seen from the building I had gone to. I wasn't sure why I wanted Sabina to go with me. Part of it was I didn't want to be alone, that I knew for sure.

"I want Janan to take us back with her. She told me to go back to the church, but I don't want to stay here…do you..?" I saw the light glow dimly. It was close.

"Not really, but my family has always gone where the songs took them."

"Where is your family Sabina?"

"Either dead or going to be," I blinked at those words. Silent, I glanced up at Sabina. No smirk but no tears either. I wonder what she was thinking. We had arrived at the building, and there were wagons right outside. I spot a hooded figure from the crowd of soldiers.

"Yun!" I called out. It seemed he had already seen Sabina and I, and was walking up to us.

He said something under his breath, and pointed behind us – back to direction of Raban's church. I shook my head, trying to indicate I wanted to go too.

"Do you know where Janan is?" I ask only to get words that made no sense to me. "No, I can't understand you!"

"I swore he spoke our language before." Samina crossed her arms. I realized she might have been cold. I had pulled her outside without thinking about what she was wearing. Though she had long sleeves, it wasn't as thick. I pull my cloak off and offer it to her, but she shakes her head, making me put it back on before looking back at the hooded man.

"I've heard your voice before; you spoke when Asra and I were still in the wagon. You could understand what we spoke. You understood what Janan has said when she speaks to us. We just want you to bring us with you."

I could see Yun look up, rolling his eyes as he shook his head. He shrugged with a sigh, no longer speaking. It was true the man had responded to Janan's comments in a proper way of someone knowing what she was saying. But I could believe he didn't know how to speak our language. He seemed as frustrated as I was. He stood right by a wagon. He turns and pulls something out of one of the carts. It looks like many sheets of paper attached by string. Flipping it open quickly, he starts pointing at the black ink on the paper while saying something. It sounded like he was asking a question, but he also sounded a bit annoyed. Sabina and I looked at each other and back at Yun. We shook our heads. He threw his hands up. A man riding the horse in front of the wagon shouted something at Yun. With a sigh, he moves us towards the wagon. He pointed at the wooden floor of the wagon, indicating where to sit by the boxes. They contained what looked like the same sheets of paper Yun had been holding, some writing tools and other miscellaneous items. After Samina and I sat down by the crates, Yun sat down too, towards the end of the wagon. A shout, a crack of a whip, and the wagon wheels creaked into movement following the sound of horse shoes. It was moving slowly, following the other wagons in front.

Someone climbed the back end of the wagon to join us. I recognized the green skirt under the hooded cloak. It was Janan.

"Yun." Janan said as she continued her sentence to the man in their unknown language. She only spoke briefly before she realized Sabina and I were sitting in the wagon. Sabina waved at her, smiling a bit. I simply watched as her lips tightened and she looked back at the hooded man.

"Yun." She started. "Yun!"

He only sat there with his arms crossed, shaking his head.

* * *

When Yun took out a chinese manuscript and pointed at it, he was asking them if they knew how to read - at all. He knew they did not speak Middle Chinese (the chinese they use during this time yeah. hur hur hur.) and so he asked how in the world they would survive in a world that they could not understand.

I'm just going to say this now since Asra might not ever know what the Apples of Eden are - but Yun and his teacher Ci has had been in contact with an Apple and it had allowed them knowledge to speak languages. It was temporary and it was wearing off. He was still able to understand Asra and Sabina speak, but couldn't reply because he could barely say any words in Arabic anymore, hence his frustration. Being able to understand Chinese but not speak it very well, I understand this feeling.

This was the century of trade between the middle east and the middle kingdom via silk road. Muslims will travel this path into China and settle there, also known as the Hui Chinese~ with the exception of the Lotus foot - women have some rights during this time in China. They manage households, can establish a business and have an education and stuff. There were obviously more men that had an education and stuff but it wasn't weird for a woman to be able to study and get an education as well. Being head of a household also gave them some considerate power. They weren't very active in the political sphere though - but hey, palace politics, so fun.


End file.
